


Father's Guilt

by workerBee (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Creampie, Cum drinking, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Father/Son Incest, I guess it doesn't actually happen but Dualscar's fantasies are pretty detailed yo, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Incest, Incest Kink, Light Masochism, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, SPANK KINK, So I'll tag them, Spanking, internal ejaculation, no actual rape happens in this fic tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2178471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/workerBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan "Dualscar" Ampora has a bunch of problems. His son Cronus, though, is definitely the main one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father's Guilt

Your name is Duncan Ampora, and you have a lot of problems. Some minor ones include some little prick trying to sue your company with the help of that horrific lawyer, that Pyrope woman. Some of the major ones include your ex-wife, who has disappeared for years after she left you and your sons for another man, and has recently surfaced again to claim custody of them. But the main problem, the true, monstrous obstacle in your life at the moment, is probably your older son.

 

Not just because he's a little shit. No, it does annoy you that he won't stop skipping class, or puts his big dirty shoes on the coffee table, or talks back to you, or argues constantly with his little brother -and you can't believe he calls himself an adult when he can't help but bitch and moan at a thirteen year old kid.

 

But that's not the problem. The problem is his strong jaw and the slight stubble that appears on his face when he just woke up, before he shaves it all off. The problem is the way he paces into the kitchen before he leaves for college, all long legs under your shirt, your own fucking shirt, that got mixed up in his laundry, and that he didn't even recognize before putting it on. The problem is those oh-so-tight jeans he wears on a daily basis and the way he tucks his shirt in them, leaving his behind exposed when he bends over to pick his belongings in that messy fucking room of his.

 

The problem is that you terribly, uncontrollably, and guiltily lust for your nineteen-year old son.

 

He is not home at the moment, thank any cruel god out here that is putting you in this situation. It's a good thing, because you're sitting at your desk, supposed to be filling out paperwork, but you've started thinking about him again and couldn't get yourself to stop. It's not your fault if work is so boring and your cock is so hard. You try to fight it for a minute or so, but eventually, as always, you give up, and reach down to undo your trousers. You fish out your member in a minute, and lift an arm to cover your eyes, shield them from reality while you lean back comfortably into your chair as you start stroking yourself. You wish you could just get yourself to watch some porn to get off – some normal porn, something straight preferably so you couldn't imagine him instead of the actor at the receiving end. Then, you could simply ignore what got you erect in the first place, and go back to work.

 

But that would be too easy, and so, instead of grabbing your laptop for some healthy pornographic session, you imagine him here. You imagine his voice, if he called you Dad, or – dare you imagine? – Daddy. He hasn't called you either of those in years.

 

You picture him kneeling between your legs, the pretty curve of his nose pressed against your groin, the tip of it on your balls and your shaft on his face as you'd order him to put that bratty mouth of his to good use.

 

You imagine him taking the tip between his lips, those damned pouting lips he clearly inherited from his mother. He's just too pretty. That's why you've been spoiling him so bad – how could you resist that pout, after all? You let out a moan as your mind presents the possibility of grabbing his head and holding it in place while you fuck his mouth. You'd cum straight down his throat and make him drink your seed, and he'd learn what being a goddamn bratty spoiled tease to your father gets you.

 

But you're being unfair. You know he's not doing it on purpose, of course he's not. He's your son, your baby boy, and he never thought accidentally putting on your shirt in the early morning could be any more of a bother to you than it should. After all, even with all he claims, you are the adult, and he's just a kid. A legal kid, sure, but nothing more than a child who doesn't even light up his cigarettes and argues with you about bedtime.

 

But you quickly chase those thoughts away. If you guilt trip yourself now, you'll just be a pathetic old man sitting at his desk with a boner reflecting on his errors. It's not something you wish for.

 

So you go back to your elaborate fantasies as you rub your cock, lazily first, then harder, groaning under your breath. You never have much stamina when you're thinking about him. You're already nearing your release when you hear the door open. You recognize those heavy footsteps. Those are Cronus's boots. What is he doing here? He's early. Is he skipping again? That kid...

 

He calls you from downstairs, shouts “Pop!”, and you cum.

 

You're an embarrassed mess as you fumble in your desk's drawers for tissues and hastily clean yourself up. Then, you tuck your now softening member back in your boxers and pull your pants back on. You direct yourself to the small bathroom cabinet in the back of your office and clean your hands, and you use a touch of your expensive cologne to hide the possible smell of sex on you. God knows you don't want your sons to know you jerk off. They'd probably guess if they thought about it – if the question “does our dad masturbate” actually came to them – but you're quite positive they don't ask themselves that. You're their father after all.

 

When you emerge from the small bathroom, he is there, leaning on your desk to read your paperwork idly, and god, you hope you didn't leave any traces of cum on the wood. You approach him.

 

“You've got something to tell me”, you say, and it's not a question. He doesn't come into your office unless he does. Sometimes it makes you feel sort of sad.

 

He looks at you with those big eyes that look a bit scared, and you're not sure if he's actually scared of you or just playing with your feelings, but what you're sure of is he's fucked something up and he's in trouble.

 

“What did you do this time?”, you ask, sitting back on your chair with your arms crossed. He leans against the desk, trying to look relaxed, but you can tell he's not as comfortable as he tries to make it seem.

 

“Well...”, he commences, stumbling vaguely on the w sound like he usually does. Weird accent. It's not the same as yours and Eridan's, you're not sure where it came from. Probably his mother, again, that bitch. Then again, it's your fault she practically raised him alone when he was kid, until you had Eridan and she decided she had enough of this family. You try not to think about it too much.

 

“See, I was talking with that kid Mituna, you know, uh, the younger Captor.”

 

You know, at least vaguely. Captor senior used to work with you a long time ago, when you were still in Peixes' society, and he was an insufferable prick, as his kids are, from what you hear from your sons. How strange it is, how big your city is and yet how your sons met Captor's. You nod at him, encouraging him to continue.

 

“He's a real pain in the ass, alright? Like, he's terrible. He just keeps makin' fun of me all the time like the little prick he is, you couldn't believe... Well, he's been doing it forever, alright? And today he, uh. We were arguing, you know, and he told me to, uh, suck his dick.”

 

You raise an eyebrow. You can see where this is going already.

 

“So I thought, I'd teach him a lesson for being such a little bitch, and I pretended I was actually gonna do it. I wasn't going to, right? But then he freaked out and kicked me in the face, and now they won't lemme go back to class for a week saying it was sexual harassment, just cause that bastard's in the special needs section.”

 

You sigh. Yeah, you thought this kind of stuff would happen sometime. Cronus isn't exactly in complete control of his sexuality. Not that you are either, considering... But still, you're quite sure he's hiding part of the story to you. You're actually sure he might have made a serious attempt to go down on that kid and only stopped when he was hit, which he kind of deserved. He probably figured if it was just oral, it didn't count as... What? As some sort of rape? God, how bad have you failed his education? You need to teach him a lesson.

 

“Cronus.”

 

He's been avoiding to look at you so far, staring down at the ground or at his legs, but now he raises his head to look at you. You shoot a hand up to grab the collar of his shirt and he lets out a pathetic yelp, and if you weren't pissed at him, you'd probably get aroused only from that. You pull him down, and he doesn't resist, partly because of his surprise, and partly because he doesn't dare to. You push him across your lap. He wriggles a little, but doesn't make any attempt to get away.

 

“You need a lesson, son”, you say, trying to keep your voice cold and serious. Trying not to be so fond of him you let everything go easy.

 

He seems to understand his situation when you pull down his pants and he groans.

 

“Oh, come on, Pops! I'm nineteen! You can't do that!”

 

But you can, and he knows it. You leave him his underwear, not because you want to save him the humiliation, but because you don't thing you could handle pulling it off without ending up with a raging erection pressed against him, and it's a situation you're trying to avoid.

 

Hopefully this will be enough punishment for him to stop his lewd behavior. You put one hand on his back to hold him here and raise the other in the air. Then, you rush it back and give his ass a firm slap. Oh, god, it kind of _bounces_ and you think you'll have to limit the number of spanks you give him unless you want to end up more aroused than you've been in years. He lets out another loud yelp of pain and surprise and jerks forward, rubbing against your crotch and menacing to excite you. You control yourself, keep it cool.

 

Another spank comes, and another after that, and soon he's making noises that sound like sobs. You really, really want to stop, but you can't; you're trying to punish him here, not just give him a couple of slaps and forgive him. It's _supposed_ to hurt after all.

 

You notice it after the fifth spank, the unusual stiffness in his pants that brushes against your thigh when he moves. Oh. Oh, god. Alright, you need to handle yourself. Maybe he gets aroused by spanking. It's a kink, after all. That doesn't mean it has anything to do with you. You're his father. You have to ignore it and finish what you're doing. Another couple of sharp smacks come and you notice, to your horror, that with each of them he is, carefully, subtly, but still obviously to you rubbing against your thigh. He's actually getting off on this, and not just in an accidental sense – he's trying to grind on you. And it's not something your son should be doing – and it shouldn't make your member harden in your trousers.

 

You consider stopping. But if you stopped now, it would be awkward. He thinks he's being discreet, that you haven't noticed. If you stop now he'll know you know, and then you won't be able to look each other in the face for weeks. So you give him another smack, feeling the soft of his stomach rub against your clothed erection as you watch the smooth flesh of his rear bounce with the impact. You can't take it anymore.

 

“Cronus”, you say, stopping your motions. He doesn't respond. His own boner is resting against your thigh and the situation is quite disarming.

 

“You're hard”, you point out, and he's at a loss of words. Your hear his soft gasp – he really expected you not to notice? – then he starts trying to find something to say. He fumbles with it for a moment before he retorts dumbly, “Well, you too!”.

 

It wasn't smart to point out, but he has a point.

 

You grab his waist so you can pull him into your lap, his round butt on your cock, and you vaguely wonder if this isn't another one of your fantasies. His surprised intake of breath and the way he leans slightly back against you are just too real.

 

You wrap an arm around him to keep close, and you tuck his head under his chin – why is he so small compared to you? – then you snake your other hand around him and start palming at his crotch.

 

Another soft gasp from him and he tenses against you.

 

“Dad”, he says, the word coming from him for the first time in so long, probably because he can't remember to do this greaser bullshit at the moment, “What are you doing?”

 

“You can stop me”, you answer. You don't immediately ask him “do you want it?”, because you know shame and social norms will make him say no, even if there's a single chance he does. Instead you offer him the possibility to escape if he doesn't want it.

 

He doesn't escape.

 

Instead he stays quiet and tense, and you continue massaging him. After a moment a quiet, soft noise of pleasure escapes him and he ruts into your hand as much as he can in your tight hold, nicely grinding against your dick in the process. Alright. That's enough. You can't take anymore. In one smooth motion you stand up and bend him over on your desk as the hand previously around his waist goes to pull down his boxers.

 

He's even more perfect than you thought he would. Those freckles all over his face and arms are here too, sprinkled over his raised ass he presents to you, and it's just sort of adorable. As well as hot, considering the position he's in. You start stroking him again, and he straight out moans. With your free hand you reach into your drawer again, where you keep some lube, either for your own masturbation, or in case of sexual encounters, which have gotten more and more sparse over the years as you grew old.

 

You spread some lube over your fingers, making sure to get a good coat of it, because you're almost sure your son is a virgin. No one wants to sleep with him, and you know why, but part of you won't understand because he's just so pretty, he should have gotten laid at least once. Not that you'd complain. If he did, you would never have heard the end of it; his bragging abilities are quite important.

 

You massage his entrance gently for a moment before you start pushing one finger inside, ever so slowly, and you keep jerking him with your other hand. It's not as difficult as you thought it would be, and you wonder if he ever used toys on himself in the past. The thought makes you bite your lip in desire.

 

You stroke his insides with that single digit for some time, hearing his quiet panting and warm puffs of breath before you add another one and start really working on him. You decide he's ready soon enough, mostly because you can't anymore of this without cumming in your pants – and if there's anywhere you want to cum today, it's your son's ass and nowhere else.

 

You free yourself of your trousers and spread some more lube on your shaft, noticing how cold it is, and discovering that it was cold for him to, but he didn't ask you to stop. The thought pleases you. You position the head of your cock against him and wait for his approval. You're not here to take him against his will. You don't want that, never.

 

He presses back against you with need and you can guess he does want it. So you push inside him, slow, and his entrance gives in easily and swallows in your tip. You hiss in pleasure as you press further in. You do your best to keep slow, to not hurt him. You continue for a short minute, and you find yourself buried deep inside him, your pelvis against his rear and his body trembling under you. You're positive he's never been this beautiful, and it's quite something to say.

 

You don't move anymore, letting him adjust while you pet his back and hair to reassure him. You lean forward to mumble in his ear. You tell him he's oh so warm and feels so good and nice around your cock. He only whimpers, and the word comes again, a small, breathless “Dad” barely escaping his lips, making your dick twitch inside him. You decide to move.

 

You start out smooth and gentle, just grinding into him, not quite bucking yet, and he rolls his hips against you in rhythm, letting out more of those breathy moans you crave. They get somewhat louder when you shift your angle, and you guess you must be brushing against his prostate. You nod to yourself as you keep that angle and start thrusting in and out slowly. Each movement tears a moan from him, and after just a moment they're already morphing into wails of pleasure as you go faster and faster. Soon, the room is filled with sounds, the slap of skin on skin and Cronus's loud noises, your grunts and your moans and the slight creaking of the desk with everything powerful lunge of your hips. You shove yourself deep inside him, ram your cock in his ass as hard as you can and dare, and he's loving every second of it, as you can clearly see when he starts drooling on your desk. But isn't that only normal? He's a teenage virgin full of hormones, and you're an experienced man with a long experience and a thick enough dick. Of course he loves it.

 

Eventually he comes, spilling some cum on your desk and some on your thigh, and you would be annoyed about having to clean up if you weren't too busy fucking him through his orgasm. You thank the heavens for not having neighbors, or you swear Cronus's screams would probably make them call the cops. Finally, you hilt yourself as deep into him as you possibly can, and you grab his hips to keep him there, trying to go as far into him as you can, even though, with all due respect to your respectable length, you're all out of dick by now. You're not getting any deeper, and you know it, so you let go and cum.

 

Cronus seems to take well to you filling him up with your cum. He just lets out a tired, warbled moan and slumps against the desk, waiting for you to finish. You let out a long growl as you do, and then you pant heavily above him, reaching to pet his head and back again, brush your fingers through his hair, and lean over to kiss his shoulders.

 

Eventually you must pull out, mostly because you're softening again, and you grab some more tissues to wipe off the cum running out of him. You put your pants back up, and, judging he won't be able to do the same for himself, you pull his underwear up as well. Said underwear will clearly need to be cleaned soon, because the front is wet with precum from his earlier grinding, and you don't doubt more of your jizz is going to be coming out of him and staining it soon enough. But it will have to do in terms of clothes for now.

 

“...I'll see with your college if I can cancel your suspension”, you mutter, and then, gently, you gather him into your arms and pick him up. You're quite sure he won't be walking right now. You take him to his room, and put him down on his bed, and you hug him.

 

“Are you alright?”, you ask, because you know he consented, but that doesn't mean he can't feel horrible about it now. Thankfully, it doesn't seem like that's the case. He just huffs and rolls his eyes at you.

 

“I'm not _that_ weak, pops.”

 

You look down at his still trembling legs.

 

“Still, I don't want you prancing around the house right now. You get some rest.”

 

He seems annoyed for a moment. You pet his hair again, and eventually he gives you a slight smile.

 

“Thanks, Dad.”

 

That kid has you wrapped around his little finger.

 


End file.
